Spoken
by Emily31594
Summary: A series of Outlaw Queen dialogue prompts. Chapter 1: "Are you serious? Do we have to do this now?"
1. Are you serious,do we have to do thisnow

"**Are you serious? Do we have to do this now?"**

M. Very M. *hides* And then sickeningly sweet.

_prompted by trina-deckers_

"Are you—serious?" Regina pants, her hands skating out of Robin's hair and over his bare shoulders to tug him closer. "Do we have—mph—have to—do this now?" His muscles shift under her hands, tense with holding his weight off of her as he thrusts into her again.

"Yes," he insists with a groan. He shifts his weight onto one hand so that he can wind the other into her hair, dropping down for a kiss that neither of them is breathing evenly enough to sustain. "Now," he moans into her ear, his tongue fluttering against her pulse point, making her toes curl. He pulls almost all of the way out, then back in one deep thrust, and pleasure blooms in her belly, her hips arcing towards him, her eyes squeezing shut.

She digs a heel into his lower back, hikes her other leg up a little higher against his chest, and when he fills her again it is perfect, God, so good. She whimpers, and he catches on, keeps up the motion, slow, steady, deep. Her jaw drops open as she arches into him, nails digging into his shoulder, and she barely manages to catch most of the babbling words fighting to escape her lips. His name breaks through, though, a gasping Robin as she shivers with pleasure, with the contrast between his warm body and the crisp winter air that her house cannot completely shut out.

"M'lady?"

She chuckles, a heavy breathy sound over tense muscles, grins at the glint she catches in his eyes, even with his face screwed up in pleasure. He's close.

The words are there, on the tip of her tongue, the ones he wants to hear, but she twists her fingers into the hair at his nape instead, orders, "faster".

He groans and obliges, moves his hand from her hair to the pillows so he can set a quicker pace, drinks in the sight of her as the dragging friction, the angle draw whimpers and grunts out of them both. "Regina, gods, you're so—mm—love you."

God, she loves that she can do this to him, make his voice reedy and strained, loves that her body is all it takes to turn this man from an infuriatingly gallant flirt into a babbling mess, loves the way her name sounds like this, loved, desired.

"Still haven't said it," he reminds her between harsh breaths, his movements quicker now, and he's grinding against her clit as he fills her, driving pleasure into her, making her head spin.

"Robin," she whines.

"My love," he answers pointedly, his calloused hand warm as it moves over her skin. "Say it, Regina" he pleads.

"That's up to you," she challenges. She smirks proudly at his furrowed brow and slackened jaw, at his fingers curling into her skin. He's holding back, waiting, barely able to do so, his pace quick, no longer even.

His hand finds her breast with just enough room to rub over her nipple, and the extra layer of sensation nearly breaks her, has her groaning, arching into him, gasping, "I lo—," catching herself just in time.

His smug smirk would normally earn him a scowl, and a playful hand batting at his shoulder. But then he might stop.

"Yes, Regina?" he encourages, his voice halting and breathy and God she loves that she can do that to him, loves that he's made her forget why she was hesitant to say it in the first place, and as she comes apart beneath him, one hand clenching in his hair, the other fisting the sheets beneath her, her body bowing into his, she finally breathes, "I love you."

Robin grunts, thrusts once, twice, again, buries himself deep as he comes with a harsh groan.

When she opens her eyes to meet the warm, hazy depths of his blue ones, they are both still trying to catch their breath.

After a few moments, Robin shifts for her to stretch her legs, leaning forward for a kiss, languid and deep, his fingers brushing the hair out of her face. He kisses her jaw, her neck. "I love you," he returns. He would get that whack to the shoulder now, but when he lies back and tugs her into his arms, and her fingers play against the stubble on his jaw and neck, there isn't a trace of smugness in his blue eyes, just affection, and warmth.

Okay, he looks a little smug.

"Worn out?" she teases as his eyes begin to flutter closed.

"Very," he agrees, one eye peeking open at her, a delicious-sounding yawn on his lips, "it's Saturday, and far too early to be awake."

"So I shouldn't have woken you then?" she quips, dropping a light, nipping kiss on his neck, just in the spot that makes his breath catch.

"Never said that," he argues, his palm skating up and down her back.

She can hear the pout in his voice as she stretches out her arms and legs that still feel like jelly, and goes to stand. "Where'r you goin?" he slurs sleepily.

She kisses his forehead, drawing the sheets back up around him. "Go back to sleep," she whispers.

Regina's halfway to standing before a tugging hand upsets her, and she falls back against him with an undignified squeak.

"Go back to sleep with me," he insists, looping an arm around her waist, his face burrowing into her hair, his body nestling against hers.

"You're ridiculous," she sighs, even as one of her hands moves to cover his at her waist. "Honestly."

"Mm, but you love me," he murmurs. He's already half asleep again, his voice slurred. Damn him; he knows he's won.

She tries to remember if there's anything important she needs to do today, considers sitting up to glance at the bedside clock, but that would require moving, and she can see from the sunlight streaming into her east-facing window that it's still solidly morning, at least. She can spare another half hour.

"That I do," she agrees, settling in, her eyes falling shut, and at the sleepy grin she feels against the back of her neck, she cannot help but smile.


	2. Oh, no You're not tricking me this time

**"Oh, no. You're not tricking me this time."**

"Oh, no. You're not tricking me this time," Regina mumbles, stretching her legs under the covers and burrowing a little into her pillow with a sleepy moan.

Robin mock gasps as he teasingly denies it. "Trick you? Never!"

Regina can't help the way her lips quirk into a grin. It's not like he could see it, anyway, not with how he's stretched across her body, reaching to shut off her 6:30am Saturday alarm. (She lets herself sleep in for half an hour on weekends, when she doesn't have too much to do.) She also can't help reaching a palm out to steady him above her, his stomach tense as he holds his weight off of her, grunting in frustration as he tries to hit the off button without either standing or falling out of bed.

Robin and her alarm clock are longstanding nemeses.

The black clock is vibrating against her bedside table, ringing at three second intervals for the second time this morning, which makes it…God, 6:40. She really needs to get up now.

The vibrations and chimes fall silent, and then Robin's flopping back down beside her, making the mattress ripple as he catches her midway through lifting herself onto an elbow. He loops an arm around her waist and tugs her gently back to him, pressing his nose into her hair. "It's Saturday," he pleads, his voice soft and rough and enticing, "stay in bed with me."

"Robin," she sighs, covering his hand with her own on her belly, "you say that every weekend," but she doesn't move to leave him, lets him slide his hand beneath the edge of her silk pajama top, his skin calloused and warm on hers.

"That's because it happens to be what I want every weekend," he insists, looping an ankle around hers, making the thought of the cold air outside the covers even less enticing. "It's what I want every day, really. Come on, why do you even need to be awake right now?"

Regina scoots around to face him, his stubble prickling her palms as she backs her face away from his enough to see him clearly. "I have things to do, Robin. And someone has to be up to make breakfast for the boys and to bring Henry over to the Charmings."

"You're meeting at nine-thirty. I refuse to think that pancakes will take two hours." His eyes flutter shut, his forehead tipping back onto hers. "And you were up late last night."

She smirks, and knows he can feel the shift in her expression, and hear it in her voice. "And whose fault was that?"

Robin curls a hand around her hip, drifting off again. "I'll cook you breakfast in the morning," he mumbles sleepily, and Regina fights the urge to remind him that it's morning already. At least for her.

She sighs. Gives in to the fact that this was a losing battle from the start, and they both knew it, and presses a few buttons on the clock until it's reset for 7:30. "Forty-five minutes," she relents.

He hums in response, his sleepy, languid smile the last thing she sees before she lets her eyes fall shut once more.


	3. This isn't exactly what I had in mind

"Stay still," she orders.

"I am." Robin grits his teeth against the burn as she presses a cloth soaked with disinfectant onto his shoulder. He feels prickling coolness on his skin, and turns his head to see blood seeping from his wound onto the linen, staining it a muddy brown color at first, and then bright red as she clears the dirt.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I should see to my wound." He swallows, flexes his tense jaw. He's had much worse.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said I would help," she snaps. He could be healed in minutes with her magic, but he'd insisted none would be used on such a simple thing. Healing magic, he knows, requires positive feelings, good feelings, and he has to admit to some curiosity about whether Regina could manage that with him. Not enough, though, to use something so dangerous to heal a wound so easily fixed through traditional means.

"You don't have to help, Milady. I'm perfectly capable of bandaging it myself." Robin rolls his uninjured shoulder, turns his head to ease the muscles in his neck, knows she won't take the out he's given her, that she's far too stubborn.

"Sit still," she repeats, a hand curling around his shoulder and halting his movements, "and it's Your Majesty." She lifts the cloth from his skin carefully, and there is a pause as she inspects the wound, wiping the blood away from the surrounding skin. "You need stitches."

"I suspected as much."

"You're certain its claws didn't touch you."

"It was the tree stump it threw me into, Milady. Or rather, that your magic threw me into. We both know I'd be a flying monkey by now if it wasn't."

"Well, if _you _hadn't been so determined to get in my way—"

He cranes his head around, ignoring the throb his wound gives as he stretches the broken skin, and smiles gently, disarmingly at her.

"What?" Traces of frustration linger in her voice, but he also catches laces of curiosity, and barely suppressed anxiety, and perhaps even (is he imagining it?) the tiniest hint of tenderness.

She looks down, away from his gaze, begins to use a fresh cloth to scrub the traces of his blood off her hands. When he catches her hand, her movements halt abruptly. She still doesn't look up.

"I get in your way because _you _are Zelena's target, and that has only made you more reckless with your own safety."

She looks straight into his eyes then, hers hard and determined. He gets lost in them, just for a moment, the reflected light of late afternoon, the warm brown tinted darker from the shadow her hair casts over her face "You may be trying to forget at the moment, but I have magic."

"I do not fear your magic," he says to her first statement, squeezing her hand, and then, "And you are not invincible."

They stay like that for a moment, Regina too stubborn to be the first to look away, Robin too determined to make sure she believes his concern.

"Thread."

"Hm?" he hums, his thumb sweeping across her knuckles.

She removes her hand, and he feels the loss immediately, the emptiness. "I need thread, and a needle. For your stitches."

She returns a moment later from her vanity, a pouch in her hand with the additional medical supplies she hadn't retrieved before.

"You needn't—"

"Are you going to sew a wound on your shoulder yourself?" she demands. He hears the rustle of fabric as she lays a cloth on the table beside his chair, the dull sound of the supplies being placed on top of it.

Her arm reaches beside him to grasp a small metal jar first, the symbols on it unreadable to him. She anticipates his protestation. "It's not magic," she assures. "I found a recipe for something they have in the other world. It numbs the skin much more effectively than the typical herbal remedies people use here." The wind whooshes past his ear as she speaks, her voice close enough to his ear that it sends shivers up his spine until she pulls away.

Her cool fingers touch the wound tentatively, then press in, leaving a thin layer of the salve behind. He inhales sharply at first, as the pressure and tingling precursor of numbness significantly increase the pain. His head spins with dizziness, his eyes fogging over. "I don't think it's—"

"Give it a moment to work," she breathes, the clang of the lid hitting the tin, the grind of it closing a distant sound to his dizzy head.

He blinks, his teeth digging into his lower lip. The pain recedes after a tense minute, and he can breathe again.

As his head clears, he becomes aware of a light pressure to his upper arm, past the wound, and realizes Regina has rested her hand there, her thumb running back and forth soothingly. The movement stops the second she notices that his breathing has evened out.

She gets to work without speaking, the pressure of the needle noticeable, but without the sting that he is used to feeling with it, without the sore, throbbing pain of skin being pulled back together. He can still feel the ghost of her hand caressing his skin.

Her breath is even, calm in his ear. She's done this before.

"Where did you learn to do this?" he wonders after a moment.

It takes her at least half a minute to answer, but he waits.

"Someone taught me, when I was young. My mother wouldn't have taken well to my returning from my riding lesson in need of the castle doctor."

"Your mother doesn't sound like a very kind woman."

"Not terribly, no," she agrees wryly, and he can hear decades of pain in those three words, cannot imagine treating Roland in such a way, cannot breathe with the thought of hurting the most precious person in his life so deeply.

He says it without really thinking. "Your stable boy taught you?"

Her hands falter at that.

"I'm sorry, that was, I—" he fumbles, beginning to turn in the chair to apologize directly, to make sure he hasn't broken the promise he made to himself after their night breaking into this castle, that he would never make heavier the hurt and mistrust and loneliness that already so constantly weigh her down.

Her hands slide around his jaw from behind him, firm, but gentle, soft against his stubble. "Sit still, Robin. You'll tear the stitches out."

He relents.

She places another three, four, five stitches in silence. At last, her voice fills the tense quiet of the room. It is not a whisper, but it is quiet, low. Intimate. "I don't mind talking about him. Not always. I mind pity."

Robin swallows, reminds himself to choose each of his next words with care. "So, you learned how to do this to protect him."

"Yes."

She must sense something deeper in his silence, for after a moment, she insists, "What is it?"

"I knew the stories about _heroes _and _villains _were exaggerated. I've been the subject of a fair few myself. But I think they've been particularly unfair to you."

"Have they?" She sounds decidedly unconvinced as she snips the remaining thread.

"We are some things by ourselves. We make choices." He pauses, lifting his arm for her deft movements as she lays clean linen over the wound, and begins to wrap a bandage under his arm and then back over his shoulder. "But we are also what our lives have made us. I promise I understand that better than you think."

If she would have answered, he will never know, because that is the moment his son chooses to burst into the room, crying "Papa!"

"Hello, my boy!"

Roland hurries over, his dimpled grin wide. "Hi, Majesty," he adds.

"_Your _Majesty," Robin tells him gently.

"So you'll correct him, but you won't use it yourself?"

Robin hears the hint of a smile in her voice, and smirks. "Precisely, Milady."

Roland looks between them curiously, then shoots Regina a big grin before clambering onto his lap. Robin does his best to cover his wince.

"Friar Tuck said you got hurt, but not very bad," Roland relates, his little arms tightening around Robin's waist.

"Friar Tuck was right. And do you know what else?"

"What?"

Robin leans down, as if to share a secret, glancing over to where Regina is piling away medical supplies so that Roland will look there, too. "Her Majesty is much better at giving stitches than he is."

Roland giggles, a high-pitched, beautiful sound, then leans back against his papa's chest. "Thank you, Majesty."

Robin grins at her as she walks back over to them, opening his mouth to correct the title against lest, later in life, Roland offends some royal with less of a soft spot for children.

She shakes her head at him, though, halting the words, and ruffles Roland's hair affectionately. "It wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my afternoon," she presses a kiss to his forehead, and Robin watches her carefully ignore how close it brings her face to his, is slightly less successful at that himself, "but you are very welcome."


	4. Did I mention, I love you?

OQ Prompt: "Did I mention, I love you?"

**_For herardentwish who wanted a little bit of fluff._**

"We are _not _lost," Robin insists. "We are taking a romantic nighttime walk in the forest."

"Really?" Regina queries, and he can just make out the beginnings of a smirk on her lips as she ducks under the branch he's holding out of her way. "Where are we, then?"

"My camp from last fall is just to our…" he trails off as they enter a clearing that he most certainly does not recognize, "left."

Regina arches an eyebrow at him, but stays silent, and it's moments like this when he has to fight the urge to kiss the smirk off her lips. He should probably figure out where they are, first. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Robin," Regina groans, turning to face him at the edge of the clearing, "you are _not_ getting away with this like that."

"I suspect I am."

"And what makes you so sure?" she challenges.

He closes the distance between them, and his lips press into her temple, his nose in her hair, his arm looping around her waist. "I love you," he repeats, the rumble of his voice so close to her ear sending pleasured shivers up her spine. Or maybe that's the breeze that's just rushed past them. Her hand covers his at her waist.

"It's possible–" he hedges, pulling back far enough for her features to come into focus as best they can in the moonlight. Gods, but the moonlight on her hair and lips and the glint in her eyes suit her.

"Yes?"

"–that–"

"_What's _possible, Robin?"

"It's possible that we might be–"

"Lost?" she finishes.

"No! Just…not completely aware of our exact location in the forest."

"You insisted five minutes ago that you were absolutely certain about where we were."

"I was." He picks up one of her hands and twines their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over her gloved palm. "Five minutes ago."

"And then?"

"And then I realized I wasn't."

"_Robin_," she sighs, exasperated. She drops his hand to lift both of hers over her head. "I'm poofing us out of here."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Let's find our way back without it."

"Why?"

"It'll be fun."

"You want to track our way back out of the forest in the dark…for _fun."_

_"_Yes."

"Ugh, what's the point in smelling like forest if you can't actually navigate them?" she grumbles.

"I think if we turn right here, and track our way back to the fallen log behind the–What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Look behind you."

"Where?"

She nods at him, and he spins around, narrowing his eyes until they adjust sufficiently to the darkness of the tree line and he sees…the road. "Ah."

"Yeah."

"Did you–"

"–know the entire time?" She grins again, and he thinks this time he's definitely going to have to kiss that smirk off her lips. "Of course."

His teeth dig into his bottom lip, a grin of his own pulling at his features despite the slightly disgruntled set of his lips.

She laughs, and it would be worth getting lost a hundred times over for that sound, the pure joy in it. "Have I mentioned that I love you?" she asks, grasping one of his hands and pulling him towards the edge of the forest.

"Once or twice," he admits, chuckling. He stops her at the last cluster of trees for a moment, walking her back to a tree trunk with gentle fingers on her waist and pressing his smiling lips to hers, "but it's always nice to hear."


End file.
